


Death of an Angel

by mina_merry



Category: Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Dark Angel Saga Conclusion, F/M, Other, Own Interpretation, Retelling, made-up names, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 05:39:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina_merry/pseuds/mina_merry
Summary: Retelling of Warren’s death in X-Force.





	Death of an Angel

.𝘾𝙖𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚? 𝙐𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙙𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤𝙤. 𝙇𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙚 ,'𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙘𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝙄𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠, 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙖𝙠𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙤, 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Archangel could see Psylocke and her quivering lips, a hand holding his wings tightly, clipping them together, the other, pushing the Celestial Life Seed deeper and deeper inside him, ripping his blue skin apart. Crimson blood oozed out, and Psylocke shakingly let go, the seed still embedded deeply in Archangel’s body and the X-Man collapsed on his knees, techno-organic wings plunged into the soft earth underneath the soles of his boots, legs unable to support his weight for all life force had left him and so they gave out, and now he knelt, weakened, pathetic, dying. Trembling hands moved up towards the seed, slender fingers wrapped around the jagged shape that traced the outline, mustering all the strength he had left to try and pull it out to no avail. Piercing pain, so tangible as if thick threads with needles ran through his abdomen, burning his flesh and he let out a muffled scream, a choked noise as if a dying breath was forcing out of his throat, a person wrestling life from the bony hand of Death herself, shakingly, trembling.

Memories of the previous person flooded back, memories of a life where he saw meaning and beauty in creation itself, where his heart was filled with determination of moving forward in the apparent dark future that held no place for him, yet he strived, memories of Warren Worthington and the hopes that he upheld. Everything came back all at once, rushing through his mind as if he just woke up from a deep and heavy slumber to be greeted with a life that was not meant to be his, yet so familiar as if seeds of memories had been embedded deep in the corners of his mind and in the moment of near-death, they blossomed, giving back to him what he once thought was lost forever. A mind of his own, a moment where he could be himself, with the love of his life. Betsy was the first person he saw when Warren overcame his Archangel persona, which was burning away, leaving back a crumbling vessel and a crippling consciousness that of Warren Worthington, and for a moment, the corner of his lips curved upwards slightly, only for the smile to be wiped away by the immense pain that was burning away every cell in his body, so much, too overwhelming that it made him want to cry.

❝ Betsy? I. . . ❞

He rasped with every effort he could muster, choking on the blood that was filling up the cavern of his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. Every word that came out of his throat, every little droplet of air that filled his lung was tainted with blood, and it was pinning him down and wringing his consciousness out of him, which he fought to keep.

❝ W-Where are we-- ❞

And it felt as everything started to happen at the same time. A blinding, hot, white pain overcame him and he swore he could see stars. Sparks of fire burst in his mind and he screamed out of pain, unable to endure it anymore and let gravity take over, pulling him towards the earth as he collapsed on his back, techno-organic wings trapped underneath his heavy body, flapping weakly. Burst of light flared from the seed, still embedded deep inside him as he felt the Death Seed burning away, escaping his open wounds, through the sockets of his eyes and through his open mouth as he gasped for more air, panting and moaning in excruciating pain. The world spinned around him as his vision turned dark, a veil of darkness cast on the surrounding around him as he barely made out the shapes of the buildings or what were left of them around him, and Betsy, her form staggering towards him, hands clutching her face and covering her mouths, trying to force back the sobs that were threatening to escape, and follow every step she took as she manoeuvred her ways through the broken architecture, the jagged rocks and the puddle of bloods that filled the air with a disgusting smell of metal. His ears were buzzing, as if they were home to swarms of flying insects and drones, but even in the middle of his own battle with Death, he could hear the screaming and crying of people around him, Betsy wailing, Sunfire combusting. Everything so random yet signifying him of his own impending doom.

❝ Sunfire cannot contain Genocide’s flames, the doom fountain has amplified them to -- ❞

❝ Shut up and help him! You can help -- ❞

❝ No. It is folly. There is no time. ❞

❝ We can’t let that man die. . . ❞

Warren could hear the sounds of dispute, and he weakly lifted his head as he spotted Betsy next to him, her slender frame leaning over his own, black hair cascading over her shoulders, gently tickling his cheeks as her face inched closer, pain and despair etched into her beautiful face, and tears that did not even have time to dry on her flushed cheeks. Never had they been a permanent feature, she had always been so happy around him, and Warren in his half-conscious state, felt a pang of pain in his throbbing heart. He never knew how much pain he caused her. Heat was circling the atmosphere, so thick that it felt like droplet of hot sun dripping down his cheeks. Burning tears boiled to vapour at the immense heat as Sunfire rasped out something about not letting his world’s fate to befall this world, before a heatwave burst out, sweeping off everything in its wake, and Warren winced in pain, as he shifted in his spot.

❝ Warren? ❞

Her soothing voice was the only thing that anchored him to reality, as Warren tilted his head in his spot on the hard ground, breath so weak and so frail, as if he had reverted back to the innocent days where his mind was a state of blankness and his ears were filled with nothing but his mother’s lullabies. Or the sweet and caring words of his father who had put so much hope in him to lead an extraordinary life as an heir to the Worthington Industries. Definitely not a mutant that flew around showing off his wings. But anything would have been happier and more pleasant than having his mind prodded at, wires and machines protruding inside his skin and his flesh, causing him excruciating pain from days to days until his head had nothing but hatred, contempt, and a faded memory of a peaceful life that he could have had. But everything be damned, because even in his last moments on Earth, however, all he could focus on was Betsy as he choked out painfully.

❝ Hurts. . .hurts so bad. . . ❞

He cried out, tears staining his cheeks as he lifted his hand an inch above the filthy ground to clutch hers, soft and fit in his palm perfectly, the only anchor he had to reality, which was gradually turning into a bubble of clustered fractures. His reality now was hot pain and gnawing prospect of dying. Archangel was dead. Now it was his turn.

❝ . . .dying, Bets. . .I’m really. . . ❞

He breathed with much difficulty, heavy lids slowly closed his eyes as he took in the last image of her face that he could remember and ever would, reality crumbled into fantasy around him as he felt his fingers uncurling themselves around her wrist, fatigueness taken over as his pain molted into a numbness that tore at the corner of his mind, a dying voice reminding him of his physical state as he let fate take over, his ears barely register her pleas of 𝑁𝑜, 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒. 𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑜𝑘𝑎𝑦, 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙. 𝐼'𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑖𝑒. 𝐽𝑢𝑠𝑡. . .𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒. 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠. 𝑊𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑢𝑝. . .

And darkness took over him.

. . .𝑤𝑒'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝘩𝑜𝑚𝑒.

Eyelashes fluttered open as Angel jolted awake, beads of sweats on his forehead as he let out a small pant. Blue eyes darted upwards as he looked at the sky, nightsky, starry sky as if a black canvas of the most beautiful gemstones. Maybe everything was just a dream. Gloved hands pressed against his face as Angel wiped away the sweats, rubbing his eyes. He took in a deep breath and exhaled, back leaning against the large boulder behind him, feathered wings fluttering to the rhythm of the winds that ran their fingers through his soft blond strands. A rustling noise came from his right, and he flinched, quickly shifting into a defensive position only to sigh in relief as he saw Psylocke emerging from behind the lines of trees. The corner of his lips quirked up into a small smile.

❝ ‘Bout time.

I was wondering if you were going to show. ❞

He called out while shifting in his spot, moving away to give her some space as his blue orbs followed Betsy’s movement, watching her sit down next to him, and a strange sense of calmness washed over him. Something he did not even know he was capable of feeling anymore.

❝ Sorry I’m late. Caught up in nonsense. ❞

The way Betsy stressed the last word struck him as weird, but her flushed cheeks and gentle smile made him avert his gaze, dismissing the gut feelings as something of very little significance, and Warren directed his gaze to the sky.

❝ Waiting so long I fell asleep. . .had the strangest dream.

We were living in a bleak and failed world. Xavier’s dream had all but been forgotten. You and I were. . . assassins. ❞

His voice was strained, and Warren looked down, eyes fluttering closed as if filled with remorse, and his voice thick with emotion.

❝ We killed a child. It cost us everything we were. It -- ❞

❝ was just a nightmare. ❞

Elizabeth cut in, not letting him finish his sentence as she turned away from him. But Warren did not notice, having his eyes closed still as he let himself submerge in the calm darkness, the peace that came to him when he chose to temporarily let go of his vision.

❝ Yeah. ❞

He finally spoke up after silence had settled comfortably between the two of them.

❝ I know. But still. . .It left me hollow even now that I’m awake. . . ❞

Yanking himself out of his melancholic trance, Warren snapped his eyes open, and looked around, back turned against Braddock. The world was a still a bleak canvas to him with nothing surrounding them besides a line of trees and several boulders that blocked the horizon from them, and he furrowed his eyebrows. He did not recognize this place.

❝ Where are we, anyway? Can’t remember. . . ❞

He voiced his thought, only for Betsy to cut in again, reminding him that this was Colorado, his private cabin, and that they moved here after she got pregnant.

❝ Like we always talked about. . . ❞

He felt her fingers gently pressed against the back of his head, and the night sky melted into glass panels, windows looking out onto a lush garden, and situated in front of the windows were two girls. One with beautiful golden locks just like his, the other, silky black hair. Both of them clutching their toys as their arms were stretched out towards him, giggling and screaming as they demanded his attention.

❝ Remember? ❞

Betsy’s voice came up again, disembodied, yet sounding as if she was right behind him.

He remembered now. His two little daughters. The most precious people in the world

❝ Ha! Sounds about right. ❞

A chuckle spilled over his lips as a feeling of calmness washed over him again. Strange, but not unwelcomed.

And the scene faded again, but to him, time was winded and years passed by. Now he was in bed, a blanket draped over his waist as he supported his head with his arm, elbow dipped into the fluffy pillow as he leaned forward, squinting his eyes as he looked at his own mirrored reflection in Elizabeth’s eyes. An odd quirk, but something he picked up over the year as it gave him the perfect excuse to gaze into the eyes of the woman he loved with all his heart. Letting out a childish puff, quite uncharacteristic of a man in his late 40s, but the way the wrinkles on the corners of his eyes squished together showed a hint of smile on his face.

❝ . . .then one day you wake up and you’re forty. ❞

He whined slightly, pouting but immediately dropped it when his wife put her hand on his arm. Betsy only smiled, her pose mirroring his as she shoved her elbow into the pillow and held up her head with her hand.

❝ It all goes by so damn fast. Don’t even recognize my own face. ❞

He complained again, but Betsy only shook her head. She had grown very used to her dear husband’s antics by now, but not one day went by without her love for him increasing tenfold. What more could she wish for? Life was beautiful, and they had everything they wanted. A successful business, two beautiful daughters, a house away from the constantly hustling and bustling city of New York.

❝ Where you see wrinkles, I see wisdom.

I always knew one thing in my heart. . . ❞

. . .𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑐 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟. 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑠 --

❝ Jean, don’t do it. ❞

Warren laughed, but it was too late. The ice cream made a straight dive towards his nose, and before he knew it, coldness hit the tip and he let out a small yelp. Glaring daggers at his little girl, but feeling his heart melt at the sight of the black-haired girl giggling. Grabbing a tissue, he wiped the smudge of ice cream away, before directing his gaze towards his wife, who was holding Eliza in her arms, her smile wide and bright more than any stars in the world, and he felt contented. He would not trade this for anything in the world.

\-- 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑑𝑜.

There were the quiet days where he would settle down on the bench out on the porch, a blanket draped over his laps and a good book in his hand, before Eliza would join him on the seat, hogging his blanket and he would just laugh and let her do so. She also had a book in her hand, a bookworm she was, he dared not say just like her father, but both of them were somewhat cute nerds (although that title would rightfully belong to Bobby or Hank more), as she settled down, leaning against him as he draped his arm over her shoulders, one leg crossed over another, holding up his own book as his blue orbs skimmed over the lines, taking in every word as he rejoiced in the peace that would soon be disrupted by Jean, who was splashing colours across the white canvas, paints staining her orange tee shirt, and Elizabeth would squint her eyes at the product of their hard work, a paint brush digging against her temper as she tried to make out the weird shape on the paper. He would laugh at the blotch too, before calling out to them to either rest, or to step up their game before the blond duo, that’s what he nicknamed his little team of him and Eliza, beat them. Elizabeth and Jean would shrug it off, but no doubt they would conspire against him when he had his back turned.

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑑𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑, 𝑓𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑙. . .𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠.

❝ I can’t believe it. ❞

Warren laughed as he fixed the camera in his hand, trying to fit everyone in the frame, while gradually moved back in their lawn.

❝ You could have at least fetch a redhead. Or a brown-haired. I’m trying to collect all colours here. ❞

Eliza would roll her eyes at his lame joke, hand clutching her boyfriend’s tightly as she dragged him across the spacious yard towards her parents. Jean was contentedly settling in the arms of her boyfriend, a dashing young man with jet black hair.

❝ Come on, first prom. ❞

He motioned for Eliza and her boyfriend to move closer to Jean and her male partner, and Betsy squeezed into the frame next to the black-haired girl, smiling all the way through, as she placed a hand on Jean’s boyfriend’s shoulder, leaning against him for support as they all put on smiles, and from the bottom of his heart, he knew that those were real. Smiles of happiness, and another strange sense of calmness washed over him. He had grown to accept it over the year. That life was going perfect for him. Finger pressed against the little button of the camera, and it clicked.

𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤. 𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝘩𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤.

He was walking down the aisle, with his little girl, Eliza, all grown-up now, dressed in a magnificiently beautiful white wedding dress, as they took one step at a time together towards the arch at the end of the road. Steady, heart fluttering, a smile on his face, blue sky and golden sun as golden rays of light bounced off their golden locks, shining underneath the glimmering light. Everything was beautiful, and he had thought that his life could not get any better. Placing a light kiss on her forehead, his little girl now a beautiful angel, albeit still much shorter than him, Warren felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes but he managed to hold back, unlike Betsy who was silently crying into her handkerchief. Happy tears, he hoped. Letting go of Eliza’s hand, he stepped aside, nodding as she turned towards the priest that was conducting the marriage, before moving towards his seat next to Elizabeth, settling down and holding her hand in his, tightly.

𝑆𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟, 𝑓𝑜𝑐𝑢𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑒𝑎𝑐𝘩 𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟. . .𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦. . .𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑒 𝘩𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟.

Time flew by so fast, especially when he was enjoying his time. Date nights, them sitting by the windowsills, rejoicing in the silence and basking in the moonlight, silver rays cascading down the glass panels, hitting the rims of their glasses and bouncing away, and they would talk about the days, reminiscing about their past saving the world, making friend, bonding, all their adventure together. And just like that, time faded away and they grew old together. Harmoniously, peacefully, just like how they wanted it to be.

They could grow tired physically, but never mentally, or of each other. This, Warren was sure of, as he laid on his bed, unable to move a muscle as he would grow more and more fatique as day passed by, the energy he built up in his youthful phase slowly burning away like a candle flickering in the darkness, slowly but surely, until there was nothing left. But he still had Betsy by his side, holding his hand with her own trembling one. But her grip had always been so sure, and he was grateful.

❝ Can I make you more soup, Angel? ❞

A breathy laugh escaped his throat. Even though they were no longer X-Men, she still had the habit of retaining his old code name. Because to her, he was an Angel. To her, to their two girls, to the people around them. An angel with golden hair and a golden heart, triumphing over all the hardships life threw his way as he continued to show his kindness through and through, until the end of time. Blessed.

❝ No, thank you. I don’t think I can hold anything down and your soup deserves a belly capable of digestion. ❞

He breathed, and struggling as he was to force words out, there was a playful tone to it that made Betsy smiled. Warren swallowed. He knew his limits, and they were up. There were so many things left unsaid, and he wanted to get them out before it was too late. Throughout the course of his life, he had met many ups and downs, many relationships went to dust and he would cry to sleep over the things that could have been, but even now, on his deathbed, he still knew, deep inside, that he was lucky. To have love in his life. To have friends, to have a life so peaceful that he never dared dream of. It was something uncalled for to people like him. And he was grateful.

❝ You know I love you, Elizabeth. I wonder every day how I got so lucky to end up with you, to have such a perfect life. ❞

Betsy felt her heart melting. Even after all these years.

❝ You deserve all the happiness in the world. ❞

❝ Some days, it was so perfect. . .I’m not used to trusting good things. Always waiting for someone to pull the rug out. I used to look out at that sun and half expect it to wash away.

I know what you had to give up to be with me. You saved me, Elizabeth. Never gave up on me. I know it wasn’t always easy. ❞

He rasped with great difficulty, but smiled nonetheless as Betsy dipped, closing the distance between their faces. Her eyes bore straight into his, and he felt as if he was fifty years younger, laying in bed with the girl he loved as he squinted his eyes, trying to make out the crooked reflection of himself in her violet orbs, all the while admiring the colour of her eyes, drenched in the beautiful swirl. It was like a drug and he was addicted.

❝ It is easy to love such a beautiful person. You sacrificed everything for the ones you loved. . .all the while worrying you weren’t doing enough.

You did enough, Warren.

You led a full and significant life. ❞

She patted his hand on his stomach, and gave him the most serene, the most beautiful smile he had ever seen in his long life. The peaceful, happy, serene image of hers would be the image that he would forever keep in his mind and his heart, engraved it in his brain. Never forget. Heavy lids closed down on his eyes, as his ears picked up the last echoing words that Betsy spoke, disembodied, yet as if she was right close to him, lips closing on his chapped ones, a single drop of tear pressed against his own cheeks as he let darkness take over. Just one last rest.

❝ 𝑴𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐. . . ❞

Because dreams are ashes that eventually will be carried away by the very winds that bring hopes, swept away underneath a nice and neat carpet, until all memories of them fade away and their existence seemingly erased. Lingering at the tip of his fingers, so close yet so far.

A blank mind like the blank sheet of white snow, and a single flake pressed against his cheek like Betsy’s tear in his last moment, but this time, Angel had no collections of what happened as he opened his eyes. It was cold. Cold and cold all over. The whole landscape was painted white, and Warren raised his hand. Covered by white gloves attached to his white outfit, glazed blue eyes slowly moved from his hand towards the ground. Pushing himself off the ground, techno-organic wings caught underneath his back now freed and fluttering to the sound of the winds. Tilting his head, Angel let out a breath, which immediately crystallized in thin air, beautiful white threads where like crystal strings weaving through the air.

He did not know where he was, and his head hurt. With no memories, feeling like a completely new person, Angel staggered forward, following the source of noises that he picked up moment ago. Treading across the snow. It was far too long before he reached the group, and the first person he saw was a woman with purplish-black hair, whose beautiful purple eyes immediately widened at the sight of him. With a loud cry, she lunged forward, and before he could react, her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, and her lips pressed against his. He did not react.

There was a ringing sound in his ears, clear and beautiful as if the sound of a bell in the midst of snow. As if it was a Christmas.

When the woman parted, his glazed eyes fixed on her face again. There was a sense of familiarity about her that he could not put his fingers on, and when Angel opened his mouth to speak, his voice was startlingly bland.

❝ Who are you? ❞

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
